


Raising Reliance

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Collars, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spanking, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-29
Updated: 2011-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 01:21:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/270119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 18: Street.  Dean and Sam make their round of apologies, and comfort one another - in bed...  Follows from 17.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raising Reliance

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

One thing was for sure, the apologies Sam and Dean had made to Bobby and Jim hadn’t gone quite the way the boys thought they would. Both of them had chosen to do so privately, one on one, and Dean was currently slinking away from Bobby, heading for the stairs he’d heard Sam go up earlier. He suspected that John’d had a word with both the older men, because he hadn’t expected either man to exercise John-type parenting skills. Neither of them had laid a finger on him, but he felt like he was about five, and it was a safe assumption given his location that Sam was feeling the same. Dean encountered his father at the top of the stairs, and was helpless to fight the horrific blush staining his face. John looked mildly at him.

“You boys talk to Bobby and Jim? Good. We’re heading into town to finish the errands we interrupted when neither of you boys picked up your phones yesterday evening. We’ll be back around six, I expect to see the two of you downstairs behaving yourselves when I get back, and the table set for supper – we’ll bring something back. You don’t leave the house, you hear me?”

“Yessir.” John lets his son go. They deserved every spare word of the lectures they’d gotten today, but he knew when enough was enough. His younger son was face down on his bed, faking sleep at high noon, thinking he had his dad fooled, but John had heard the couple of frustrated sobs that Sam had let go, thinking himself alone. He was afraid he’d been too hard, just like always, but such a big mistake… He shook his head and collected the other men.

Dean crept into the bedroom, studied Sam, and opened the curtains that Sam had obviously closed. He heard the kitchen door slam, the sound of an engine, and then he sat down next to his brother. “Sam.”

“M’sleeping,” came the mumble.

“No you’re not. Look at me.’ He waited a few minutes, tried a few different ways to get Sam to turn around and face him. The scoldings – all of them – had been harsh, and if Dean was feeling edgy because of them? Sam couldn’t be in good shape, he always took everything to heart, didn’t have the same capacity to breathe in, understand something, and let it go, only keeping the important information and leaving the emotional overload behind. He finally sighed. “Sam, I swear I’ll smack your ass if you don’t turn around and look at me right now.” Fortunately it got a response. He laid down next to the boy, where they could look at each other. Sam looked like hell, eyes red with the crying, face puffy. Dean turned, thinking to get up, procure a washcloth, and Sam choked back something unintelligible. Enough with it. He grabbed his baby brother to him, feeling his own soul ache when Sam began to cry again.

“It’s my fault.”

“What? Oh, no, Sam. This one’s on both of us.”

“But-“

“You don’t get to argue,” he says, pulling Sam in tight. “You argue with me on this…” he trails off, away from the usual threat. He admires the thought, but it’s ridiculous. Sam yanks away from him, and this time he lets the boy go, gets up, wets a cold washcloth in the bathroom, brings back a wad of tissue. When Sam fights him about sitting up, he puts a careful hand on the boy’s shoulder. Sometimes Sam tries to be too self-reliant, and if he has to, Dean will fall back on drastic measures to temper the boy’s extremes.

“I’m serious, Sam. Be a little bit awkward, but don’t think I won’t collar you to get you to listen.”

Sam whips around, sitting up. “Collar- you can’t spank me again!” He sounds desperate, and Dean hopes this is going to go the right way.

“I will. You don’t lie, Sam, not to me, or Dad, or yourself,”he says forcefully. “And if you’re gonna keep lying to yourself like this, I swear to God I’ll do it.” Sam puts a protective hand behind him, eyes welling up. Christ. Some days it was like having a sister. “You listening yet?”

Sam’s eyes are doubtful. “Maybe you should,” he says quietly.

“No, I shouldn’t. We’re in this together, buddy.”

“I can’t take more…” Sam trails off, voice just a whisper, but Dean knows what he’s talking about.

“Not gonna have to. When they come back here, it’ll be no different than any long layover, Sam, aside from some extra training. You know that. Though you know we need to watch our step a little – Dad gets a little free with the spankings after he’s given a couple.”

That gets a chuckle out of Sam, especially since Dean’s been the victim of that tendency the most, in recent months. Dean hands him some tissue, waits for the boy to blow his nose, then carefully wipes Sam’s sore, tear streaked face with the damp cloth. Sam’s relaxing, it’s good. Then he gives Dean a worried look, and Dean braces himself.

“Dean, I, um, well, I really need to move.” Dean frowns, then Sam’s earlier comment hits him, and he realizes that the position is probably putting a lot of weight on Sam’s sore behind, though he’s sitting on his own without too much agony. He’s glad they got out of having to sit at the kitchen table for lunch, though.

“Dude. Lay down and roll over-“

Sam’s huge eyes look pleadingly at him. “You’re not gonna-“

Dean chuckles. “No, you idiot, I’m not gonna spank you.” Sam complies with a relieved breath, which hitches as Dean slides the kid’s sweatpants off. Shit. Sam’s pretty bruised. “Hang on a sec.” He fishes the arnica cream out of his kit, comes back.

“Dean-“ His brother pauses in surprise, not expecting a protest. “Dad’ll kill you if he finds out you used that stuff on me.”

“No he won’t. You remember the first time he spanked you hard enough to leave bruises like this? You were sixteen, he put the stuff on himself, you like to died of embarrassment, remember?”

“Oh god.” One of Sam’s hands covers his head, the other waves piteously at Dean, hoping the older boy will stop there.

“Yeah. Skateboarding down the yellow line on a major street wasn’t such a good idea, was it?”

“Shut up.” There’s no bite to the comment though, and the next thing Dean hears is a slightly familiar noise. He bites back the chuckle.

“Something up, Sam?” He sets the cream aside, nibbles on the boy’s ear to show he’s serious, and gets a little moan in return. Then Sam’s turning on his side, and Dean can see the flushed erection. He eases out of his own pants, and then his hands are all over Sam’s golden skin, still holding the summer tan that’s long faded from Dean’s arms and chest. He bucks up into the sweet feeling of Sam’s warm hand wrapped around his cock. He feels loose and hot and out of control, and he can’t get enough of the tang of Sam’s mouth, hands can’t get close enough to Sam’s strong body.

He’s got just enough room left to think that he’s glad he anticipated this, grabbed the lube along with the arnica cream. He pops the cap open, slides a slicked finger up into Sam, and pauses, worried, when Sam stiffens.

“Sam?”

“Dean, I don’t, I mean, I – on my back, I don’t…”

Dean laughs, the sound low and gentle. The boy can’t even string a coherent sentence together, but he knows where Sam’s mind is going. “Just let me do this – and then let me tell you what I want, Sammy,” he breathes into the boy’s ear.

The dirty talk slips sweetly off his tongue into Sammy, whispering all his needs and desires as he rocks first one finger, then two up into the boy, and then he’s feeling Sam’s thick finger entering his own body, moans and stutters with the pleasure, loses track of his thoughts.

“I want to hear more, Dean,” And GOD, how is Sam coherent NOW? Dean’s brain is melting, and he babbles to Sam, thrusting his fingers in and out of the boy, across the scorching nub inside that send electric shivers through the strong muscles, until Sam’s reaching back, and pulling Dean’s hand away with a whimper, holding Dean’s hands above his head. Dean’s left breathless with the plunge of Sam’s cock into his body. Sam’s long moan leaves Dean shaky, and then the feeling comes full circle when Sam’s hands fondle Dean’s cock, and suddenly both of them are thrusting in this perfect rhythm, crying out as orgasm overtakes them simultaneously.

Sam collapses on top of Dean, and it’s a minute or two before something makes its way through the post-orgasmic haze.

“Dude,” he whispers. “Dude, you’re killing me here, move – my ass is on fire.”

Sam chuckles. He imagines the friction of the sheets on the bruises must have been hell. “Where’d you leave the arnica? Maybe, ah, I can return the favor,” he says, running a finger along Dean’s cock, which twitches and stiffens in reply. And what can Dean do, but hand him the cream, and sigh in contentment – he certainly has no objections to another round.

**Author's Note:**

> Music: 10,000 Maniacs - Trouble Me


End file.
